


Mouse Trap

by ClockWords



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Grif and Locus friendship, M/M, MAJOR fluff in the end, Mutual Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, locus is trying his best to be human, post-chorus, there’s actually a little gore but not enough for the tag, they’re in love your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockWords/pseuds/ClockWords
Summary: When Grif and Simmons are separated in (ironically) a massive, endless canyon, Grif and Locus work together with a soft rookie to reunite in one piece, and Grif will be damned if he doesn’t make it back to Simmons.A Grimmons one-shot that got a little out of hand.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	Mouse Trap

**Author's Note:**

> HEY so a little update for those who read RVB: Redemption; that’s gonna be COMPLETELY rewritten. So uh. Don’t expect an update soon lmao. 
> 
> Also! I wanted some Grif and Locus friendship in a fic so bad so... this was born. 
> 
> Let there be Grimmons and friendship. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Everything went down the fucking drain as soon as Grif heard the shots ring throughout the canyon. 

  
  


Grif and a small squadron had been sent to scout a massive canyon, complete with secret tunnels and hidden natural passage ways. Simmons had his own squad, sent out on the opposite end of the canyon so they could explore the area quicker. 

The canyon stretched for miles, with walls a mile and a half into the sky from the lowest point of the natural fixture. The stone gleamed white, with few signs of water unless you managed to explore deep enough underground in the canyon’s caves. 

For the most part, everything was following accordingly. Grif was deep underground with four soldiers, all incredibly young and fresh with excitement of their first mission. 

They hadn’t seen the pirates in  _ months,  _ not after they killed Felix and (unexpectedly, holy hell) adopted Locus into their group. But it wasn’t that easy; he isn’t allowed to live with them at the base (which Locus knew he had coming), so he had his own place that the Reds helped him make. Four months have passed since they ruined the merc’s plans, and Locus’ addition to the team hadn’t been an easy one. 

And it was Locus who warned Grif and Simmons to refrain from going into the canyon. 

Now, Grif understood why. 

  
  


“Atkinson, get down,  _ now!”  _ Grif hollars before pulling a pin and chucking a grenade as hard as he possibly could in the direction of offending fire. Said squad-member took cover, huddling his assault rifle close to his chest as he heard the sound of rock blasting into a thousand tiny pieces. 

The other three soldiers had died a  _ long  _ time ago. 

“C-Captain? What’s the plan? We’re out-numbered!”

“Fuck- Just hang on, I already called in back up. Locus should be here soo—  _ Fuck!”  _ From behind his cover, Grif feels the shockwave of a grenade blasting at least four yards in front of him. His arms rose up, instinctually covering his head. The sound was  _ deafening,  _ leaving Grif’s and Atkinson’s ears to ring in what felt like killing silence. 

_ God, have they reached Simmons, too? _

  
  


  * _••_



  
  


Simmons had a squad of three. 

_ Had.  _

He was backed up in a rocky corner, with a cliff overhang above him that stretched until it breached right above the redhead’s pursuers. Four pirates had him pinned, rifles raised. 

_ This shit is getting so old- _

“Drop your weapon!” A pirate took a step forward, the finger on the trigger noticeably shaky as he spoke. Simmons could only comply, hands in the air before he reached for his battle rifle. 

Slowly and with care, Simmons pulled it from his back, visor faced at the enemy as his nervous hands pulled the weapon into view for the Pirates, high above his head with the nose of the weapon pointed to the sky. 

A few seconds of silence.

His metal-clad heart beats a million miles an hour before he pulls the trigger. 

The overhang above him was fragile; chips and stone fell rapidly, Simmons refusing to take his finger off the trigger until he  _ knew  _ those pirates were crushed to the  _ bone  _ by stone. The last 6 feet of the overhang lay on the floor of the canyon, leaving four dead pirates at Simmons’ feet. 

“That went  _ way  _ better than it fuckin’ should have.”

  
  
  


  * ••



  
  
  


Locus saves them, just in time. 

Like the badass he is, he had the advantage by remaining high into the walls of the canyons to take perfect aim. Grif heard a shot for each pirate that threatened him. He peers from around his cover, seeing each pirate in the dirt with their knee or shoulder clutched close to their persons. Grif could only smirk, sticking out his tongue despite the gesture not even being visible to his enemy. 

“ _ Ha!  _ Even when he swears off killing, he can  _ still  _ kick your asses!” 

The pirates groaned in pain, their injuries  _ definitely  _ draining blood. Atkinson looked on with awe, a cloaked figure suddenly shimmering into their view. Locus paid no mind to Grif’s comment, placing his sniper rifle against the middle of his back as he approached. He takes one glance at the two before he realizes it’s  _ only  _ the two.

“We need to move. The pirates are starting to close in on our position. They have your way out blocked, as well as Captain Simmons.” 

“Shit- did you see him?” 

“No,” Locus shook his head, a movement that hinted the slightest of sympathy. “We can’t get a pelican out here; I already tried. They’ve jammed our towers in this area, so they know we’re here. It wouldn’t matter, though. This canyon is too narrow for them to pick us up.” 

Atkinson takes a step forward, back rigid and posture stiff as he takes the respectful stance for his superior. “Sir, does this mean we’re stranded? Or is there a colony base nearby?” 

Locus tilts his head slightly to the left as he listens for Atkinson’s voice. “A little of both, soldier. We still have to regroup with Captain Simmons and his squad— if he has one left at all. From there, we can take the tunnel system and find our way out. There’s a colony base nearby, but we need to get out of this canyon on our own to get there.” 

“Wow hang on— are we just fuckin’ walking into these caves blind?” 

If you know him well enough (which, Grif  _ does),  _ you could practically hear the “ _ are you insulting my intelligence?”  _ just by looking at the tilt of Locus’ helmet. 

“No. I have a holo map, which has scanned this entire area. However, finding Captain Simmons will be…  _ difficult _ .” 

“Difficult or not, we’re gonna find him.” Grif grumbles, taking a glance at Atkinson. “If the towers are down, does that mean we can’t just radio him?” 

Locus nods with regret. “Yes. The only way we’d be able to contact him with our comms is if we happen to be close enough to use the local system. We have to be within a two-mile radius before we could do that.” 

Atkinson stiffens once more. “Sir? Just… how far does this canyon stretch?” 

Atkinson was young—  _ so young— _ and his naive fear was more than evident in his voice. 

“Above ground, it’s about twenty-five klicks from Captain Grif’s initial position to Captain Simmons’ initial point. We have a long trek.” 

Grif’s and Atkinson’s eyes bulge underneath their helmets. “Are you  _ serious?  _ How the hell are we supposed to find him  _ from within underground caves _ if we have that much distance to cover?” Grif was exasperated, his body language more than enough to express his emotions. 

If this had been merely two years ago, Locus would have told Grif to leave him behind so they could get back to base quicker. 

But it  _ wasn’t  _ two years ago. It was now.

“I don’t have all the answers, Grif. But we’ll figure it out. The caves won’t leave us out in the open, and it should cut our time in this canyon short.” He takes a sharp look at the young cadet, who immediately straightened his posture in response. “Atkinson, was it? Can you shoot?” 

He nods.

“Can you shoot  _ well? _ ”

Again, another nod. 

It was true. Atkinson was actually a great shot, despite his young age. Although he was  _ awful  _ at hand to hand combat, his marksmanship was near perfect. His team just had to pray the kid didn’t have to throw a single punch. 

“Good. We’ll be outnumbered if Captain Simmons happens to be with the pirates.” 

  
  
  


  * ••



  
  
  


_ Fuck, how long have I been in this damn place? _

Simmons wandered through the caves. His way out had been caved in by the pirates, so his only escape now were the tunnels from within the canyon. He had a holo map, thankfully, but no communication. 

_ How the hell am I supposed to find Grif when I can’t even contact the idiot? _

The walls were eerily white, but gentle pools and streams of water that ran through the floors and cracks of the caves gave the prestine rock a beautiful glitter to it’s design. 

Beautiful. The caverns were beautiful.

_ Beauty isn’t gonna get me outta this godforsaken place- _

Simmons takes a glance at his holo map, grumbling as he attempts to find the safest and shortest path outside of the caves. The soft blue light that made up the map showed dozens of twists and turns, as well as several dead ends. 

“If I’m here, then I’m gonna be walking for at least an hour before I find anything worth looking into.” He sighs internally, closing his eyes from behind his helmet for a few fleeting moments to gather his thoughts. 

_ And I don’t even wanna know how many pirates managed to get into these caves. _

When Simmons finally decided to rest, he couldn’t help but think of Grif. 

_ Is he okay?? Did the pirates get to him?  _

__ He would never find out, because his damn comms aren’t working for some reason. 

__ Simmons had sat against a rocky wall, his knees pulled to his chest with his chin on his armored kneecaps. He removed his helmet, having set it beside him with disdain and exhaustion. A small fire had also been set up, illuminating the once-dark room in a soft orange glow. 

  
  


The light reflected off of Simmons’ visor, left on the ground to shine in a brilliant gold. 

  
  
  
  


  * ••



  
  
  


They stopped at a large, rocky area of the canyon that sported several spires of rock. They shot up roughly between six and twenty feet into the air, each spaced anywhere from five feet apart to as much as thirty. They provided and promised cover as the soldiers rest. 

“It’s getting dark. Come on, let’s camp out here for the night.” 

Locus’ voice seeped through Grif’s very bones, it’s deep tone promising protection and possibly  _ murder.  _

Grif silently agrees, too tired and far too stressed over Simmons to argue. Atkinson made immediate action to help set up a fire in the large cave, going out to find proper wood from the scarce, short trees that grew in the vast canyon. 

Grif couldn’t understand Atkinson’s intense need to be  _ obedient.  _ He wasn’t necessarily a kiss-ass like a certain maroon soldier, but he had this drive to  _ serve.  _ To serve, and respect those above him. 

It was hard to believe, but Grif thinks Atkinson might genuinely be a good person, with no dark, underlying motives behind his actions as a soldier. 

Who would’ve thought. 

Their camp was small, but efficient. Locus decided to take the first watch, Atkinson volunteering for the second. 

Grif was left to a dreamless, blank sleep. 

  * ••



  
  
  


_ What the fuck is this?  _

Grif can do more than just see the trail of blood splattered onto the immaculate white stone of the canyon; he  _ tastes  _ it, too. Thick and metallic in his warm mouth. 

_ God, what’s in my mouth? _

He finds that he can’t really move; only  _ see.  _

He sees an endless trail of blood, but-

_ No corpse? _

__ His brain is too muffled and foggy to really connect death to anybody in particular. Not yet, at least. His brain can only process the color red, tarnishing the beautiful white beneath it. 

_ Why can’t I move- _

Grif inhales deeply, trying to gather enough focus to force his limbs into submission. Suddenly, he feels a heavy, invisible weight in his chest; like somebody putting all their weight into their hands and compressing it against his sternum. The pressure increases by the second, and suddenly Grif realizes he can’t  _ fucking breathe right-  _

_ Fuck- there’s- _

He feels rather than sees; blood rushes from the corners of his mouth. Thick, warm and completely overbearing. It sends Grif into a near panic, making his poor mind believe he’s bleeding out. 

Then everything is happening at once. 

The pressure completely disappears, like it was never there in the first place, for a mere two seconds before Grif feels the undeniable _ pain  _ of his sternum cracking. 

The crack is deafening to his ears. 

Then the experience fades, and Grif is pulled back into consciousness. 

Locus is all he can see, now. 

_ Definitely not complaining about that.  _

“Your breathing grew erratic and unpredictable, so I had to wake you,” Locus had his helmet off, the echo of his voice now completely gone and revealing a clear, unfiltered tone. “And it’s your turn to keep watch.”

Grif could only groan in response, hand at his chest from his previous dream. “I thought  _ Atkinson  _ was gonna take watch after you-“

“He did. I just never went back to sleep.” He says flatly before leaning his back to a wall of rock. 

Grif could only stare at him, eyebrows knitting into obvious confusion as his muddled brain catches up with reality. “You didn’t- so you’ve been awake for-“

“Roughly twenty-three hours.”

“ _ Dude-“ _

“Don’t worry over it, I’ll be fine.” Locus drew his left leg up to a bend, leaning his head back against the rocky wall supporting the weight of his back. His voice left no room for discussion.

Grif’s body began moving on its own, pulling up to lean Grif’s back against the same wall of rock that held Locus.

“Then I guess we’re both keeping watch,” Grif looks away from the man beside him, eyes finding Atkinson’s sleeping body roughly 6 feet away from them. 

Locus only hummed in response, his stoic face leaving Grif with almost nothing to take from. 

_ Almost  _ nothing.

“You look worried,” Grif stated, as if it were the most obvious fact.

“I am  _ not-“ _

“You didn’t even ask me ‘about what’, you obviously are.” 

“And you aren’t?”

Grif’s body tenses at the accusation, his mind now racing like it’s NASCAR. 

“...I never said I wasn’t,” he puts the words out quietly, almost softly as he drags his knees upwards to his chest. 

__ “We’ll find Captain Simmons. It just- might take a while.” His words are chosen carefully. Comforting and reassurance weren’t the norm for him, but he was learning, dammit. 

“Why do you keep calling us ‘Captain’? You know you can just call us by our names, right?” He’s teasing, Locus can tell. If it had been two months ago, Locus would take it as a jab at his intelligence.

“Formalities are a familiar trait. I still call Washington ‘Agent Washington’. Just… habit, I guess.” 

“Eh, break the habit, dude. What part of our little group screams ‘formal’ to you?” Grif snorts in good nature, yawning straight afterwards.

“Absolutely  _ nothing.”  _ Locus isn’t smiling, but it’s definitely playful in his own way. 

“Oh? Is that a joke? Is  _ the  _ Locus making a joke?”

“It’s not a joke if it’s factual and documented information.”

“Oh my god, you  _ are  _ joking-“

“Captain Grif-“

“Captain who?”

A heavy, clearly exhausted sigh fills the space between them. “ _ Grif.”  _

“I like that. Much better.” He smirks, leaning his head back against the wall of rock behind him. “You know, you’re funny when you lighten up.” 

“What part of this is ‘lightened up’?”

“If this were six months ago, I don’t think you’d be sitting next to me right now making fun of me.” 

“If this were six months ago, I would’ve slit your throat.” 

“ _ See? _ You’re already looser.”

Locus tenses, shaking his head as if to keep himself from saying what he  _ really  _ wants to say. 

  
  


“I’m going to rest, Grif.”

  
  


  * ••



  
  


Simmons couldn’t sleep.

He  _ hated  _ being alone in dark places. 

_ Dark, claustrophobic, fucking wet- shit, are there snakes on this planet? Do they have cave snakes? _

He thought of the cave he had to convince Grif to go into in order to find Sarge, way back when they lived in the middle of a boxed canyon. 

_ “You dug a hole, and found a hole. Isn’t that what a hole is??” _

Simmons couldn’t stop the small smile at the memory of Grif’s ridiculous fear of bats.

God, shit was so  _ simple  _ back then. Just eight idiots running around in a dirt hole. But now? Ever since Wash came into their lives and Church realized he wasn’t just a ghost, shit had gotten  _ real.  _

Everything with Freelancer was… hard to believe, sometimes, for Simmons. They were basically lab rats for the military, and they didn’t even know it. Then Chorus; that was an entirely new war to fight. 

And now that the civil war on Chorus was over, Simmons was left with stragglers trying to regroup and make a sorry comeback. It was odd, really, considering how horribly outnumbered they really were. The idea of a comeback didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him. 

Another pressing issue was  _ Locus.  _

Simmons didn’t know how or when, but Locus had oddly become a Red, without any official declaration. Despite what many believe, Locus wasn’t a Blue. Tucker was still  _ completely  _ against letting Locus join their group. He definitely blamed Church’s death on him. So… no, Tucker didn’t want him anywhere near him, Caboose and Washington ( _ especially  _ Washington). Locus was all that was really left of the whole Chorus mess, and now he had to look at him every single day as an  _ ally.  _ Caboose was far too trusting, and Tucker wasn’t gonna lose somebody else.

So, Locus was pushed to the Reds. Grif and Simmons in particular. 

Simmons was incredibly reluctant to have Locus around, but Grif was quick to shush him and usher Locus into the group. Grif was actually the first to accept him, without question. 

Grif was also the first to form any kind of bond with Locus, Simmons had noted. And while he sat in that dark cave, with nothing to hear but the slow dripping of water from the stalactites in the rocky ceiling, Simmons wondered if Locus actually  _ liked  _ being around the two. He wasn’t really sure  _ why  _ the thought flitted into his brain, he just knew that it was a genuine concern. 

Simmons takes a deep breath, the exhaustion catching up to his whirring brain and aching body. His head gently drops back against the wall of the cave, knife in his lap as he lets his eyes fall closed for the night. 

  
  


  * ••



  
  


Shockingly enough, Locus actually fell asleep for the night. When his next shift to keep watch came up, well, Grif would call you a dirty liar if you accused him of taking his shift to let the man sleep. 

Locus was  _ not  _ happy about it, but his disgruntled and frustrated protests over it hadn’t phased Grif, who had been dealing with Simmons’ usual bitching and irritation for  _ years.  _ This was mere child’s play at this point. 

Atkinson had pointed out with their lack of signal to their comrades back at base, troops would surely come looking for them soon. While this was a positive note to Grif, Locus wasn’t so sure. 

“They’re thin on soldiers as it is. Why would they risk looking for us in an endless canyon with no radio signal?”

“Dude, I know you worked with mercenaries and shit before, but we’re not like that. Kimball won’t just leave us out to hang and dry. And we  _ kinda  _ saved her stupid planet, so she owes us.” Grif offers with a shrug of his shoulder, with Atkinson nodding in earnest as they continued their trek through the canyon. 

“It doesn’t make sense. Our forces are spread too thin-“

“Man, your workplace must’ve been  _ super  _ toxic,” He’s teasing, Locus reminds himself. He notes that Grif’s voice is loose and lazy, more so than usual. 

“It was organized.”

“Mm? Sorry, couldn’t hear you over your  _ toxic workplace.” _ Locus suppresses a grunt of irritation, trying his damndest to find the humor in his tone. 

_ Not everything is so serious, Locus. _

__ Grif has told him that, several times when he first joined the group. He could only glare from behind his helmet as a retort at the time, but now he’s genuinely trying to take that to heart. 

Atkinson was trailing behind them, gun close to his chest with weary eyes as he made sure to check every direction. The fact that he was a fresh, new body on the field didn’t exactly help the poor kid’s anxiety. The situation had turned to shit faster than a bullet train, and his noobie mind was  _ not  _ prepared for it. 

So Atkinson was sure to stay alert, visibly more so than his superiors.

“Could they ambush us out here?” 

“Definitely.” Locus’ reply was instant, the word like deadweight in his monotonous voice. 

“What? Really? I mean, the walls are  _ way  _ too high. There’s plenty of blind spots if they try to shoot us from up there. And the canyon itself? Most of the caves are internal. How the hell are they gonna ambush us?” Grif is far more skeptical, raising an ubrow from under his visor. 

“We don’t know how far they’ve infiltrated this canyon, Grif. I sincerely doubt they’re limited to the few that ambushed you.” 

And of course, Atkinson’s on edge. Like Grif needed a rookie to be any more trigger happy-

“Oh please, they’re  _ pirates.  _ You could kick their ass with your eyes closed, dude. I don’t think we really need to worry about it.” 

But of course, Locus had always been the paranoid type. For good reason, obviously. The idea of more pirates spurting up made him uneasy. He worked with these people, learned how they  _ ticked.  _

_ There’s no way they’re just acting on their own accord. Someone’s giving orders. Somebody that’s not me or Felix. _

“You lack the ability to be cautious of your surroundings.” Locus states monotonously, keeping his gunmetal eyes straight ahead.

“And  _ you  _ lack the ability to  _ relax.” _

“Uh, sirs?” 

Grif gives a half-hearted wave of his hand as an indication that he’s listening. 

“Would it be a bad time to suggest taking cover?”

Locus stops his movements, glancing back from behind his helmet. “ _ What?” _

__ Frustration crept through his skin, seeping in deep like water in fresh garden soil. His HUD indicates at least four incoming targets, and he could not  _ believe  _ that he let that go unnoticed.

_ Grif is so damn distracting-  _

His thoughts are pure frustration, with his focus suddenly off the fritz. 

He was only pissed because the idea of somebody  _ ever  _ distracting him sent his temper through the roof; it reminded him too much of Felix. 

Grif whirled around, only just now noticing his HUD. Two targets behind them, with two more to their left. The only problem? Neither of the targets were anywhere in sight.

“Hey, Locus?” Grif’s question is aimed at empty air, and he groans in frustration once he realizes Locus had shimmered into active camouflage.

“Yeah, that’s  _ real mature,  _ asshole!” 

Atkinson raised an eyebrow, hands careful with his weapon and eyes scanning frantically. “What’s the issue, sir?”

“The  _ issue  _ is the fact he’s  _ pissed.  _ So now he’s hiding like a  _ baby.”  _

Atkinson would probably never get used to the way his superiors spoke of each other. Especially people like Grif, insulting people like  _ Locus.  _

“O-or, he’s taking cover for the incoming pirates?”

“Oh. I forget people like to think of Locus as someone who’s prepared.” Grif rolled his eyes from behind his helmet, taking stance and readying his weapon. 

“I have eyes on the targets originally behind us; Grif, they’re closing in on you. Active camo.”

“If you can see them in their camo, why the hell don’t you  _ shoot  _ them?”

“I’ll shoot  _ you  _ if you don’t move!” 

Grif groans into his radio comm, then sees Atkinson get behind a nearby rock from the corner of his eye. 

“Sir! They’re closing in!” 

“ _ Fuck!” _ Grif takes cover behind the same rock before he hears the undoubtedly sound of Locus’ sniper rifle whizzing past him, only to lodge into somebody’s bone.

“You have the other two coming up on your right, but I’m at a blind spot. Hurry, they’re moving fast.” 

Grif nods knowing Locus can see him from his sniping location before he moves himself to the other side of Atkinson. He sees a shimmer, eyes narrowing as he takes aim. 

_ One… two… _

_ Pop-! _

The pirate drops, groaning as he holds his side. Atkinson finishes it, a shot to the face. 

“The one I shot is only wounded. We can’t leave them, if the rest of their soldiers know we’re here we won’t have any backup to deal with it.” 

Atkinson takes notice of the wounded soldier, but can’t get a clear shot. The pirate’s ankle had been shattered, leaving him with an ungodly limp. 

“I have eyes on th-“ Atkinson’s cut off by the sound of a flash grenade. Grif’s eyelids instinctually close, pulling Atkinson to the ground in an attempt at shielding his visor from the flash. He hears Locus call his name on the comms, but barely registers the deep, baritone voice.

When the light clears, so do the soldiers that had remained.

“Fuck, did they retreat?” Grif’s eyes squint, adjusting to the light. 

“I don’t think they expected us to be here in the first place. Are you alright?” Locus’ voice is sure, yet concerned over the comms. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Where are you?” As he asks, Grif’s pulling Atkinson up, who’s groaning softly while shaking his head clear. Grif removes his body from the Rookie’s, placing his weapon on his back. 

“Above you, on a ledge.” In just a short set of seconds, Locus was back by Grif’s side. Atkinson can’t tell, but the taller man seemed anxious and uneasy. 

“I heard what you said.” 

“About being a big fat baby?” 

“ _ Yes.”  _

__ Grif only snorts. “Whatever, you  _ are.  _ You look worried.” 

“Excuse me? You can’t— I’m wearing a  _ helmet-“ _

“Uh?? So? We  _ know  _ each other now. Didn’t you pick up behaviors with Felix after a while?” 

Atkinson flinches at the drop of the dead merc’s name. 

“...I told you not to bring him up.” 

And he’s right; he  _ did  _ tell Grif to keep Felix’s name out of literally  _ any  _ conversation. 

“Sirs? I hate to interrupt, but shouldn’t we keep moving?”

  * ••



  
  


Simmons had been walking for  _ hours _ before his efforts finally paid off.

He found a cracked opening that filtered beams of light. Simmons kicks until it completely crumbles into a passable opening, stepping out with extreme caution. 

The area Simmons stumbles upon is open and vast, white rock stretching in all directions. He checks the holo map, and sees the caves brought him far closer to Grif’s initial point than he expected them to. 

_ Those caves cut six miles from my trip! _

Roughly ten remain, but it was a good start. 

Simmons takes a deep breath, tries his local comms, then exhales when they don’t reach Grif. He checks his water rations before continuing, flipping his holo map up to guide him. 

The map led Simmons to a sloped cliff, reaching into the sky roughly twenty-five feet and ending at a protruding platform that clung to the wall of the canyon. He climbs the slope in hopes of gaining a better idea of his surroundings, heart pounding in his chest as he moves. 

“What the  _ fuck. _ ”

The view had been completely obscured with what looked to be explosives for at least a mile. Chunks of the canyon walls had been blown off, with the floor of the canyon covered in blood and small craters. 

_ But no bodies? _

__ Simmons pulls up his holo map, searching for the fastest route to Grif’s last known location. 

... _ Through the minefield it is, then. _

The map is deactivated before he slides back down the slope, tripping once but catching himself before losing balance. His HUD gives no warnings of incoming contacts, so Simmons makes his way through the apparent battlefield. 

To say he was anxious was undermining the man completely. His heart rate had spiked as Simmons gripped his DMR, eyes frantically flitting back and forth for pirates as he treks through the craters and bloodied dirt. 

The sound of crumbling rock sounds above him, pieces clinking the top of his helmet. The nose of his DMR is suddenly pointed to the sky, every nerve and muscle on anxious alert. 

  
  
  


  * ••



  
  


“I said I was  _ sorry.  _ Not sure if you know this, but I like-  _ never,  _ apologize. Not good enough for you, big guy?”

Grif is left with deafening silence as they continue through a cave that supposedly gave them a shortcut in their journey. 

Atkinson could only remain on high alert as they trekked, trying to make up for the lack of Grif’s attention to their dire situation. 

“Locus, c’mon, you can’t be mad at me forever.” He rolls his eyes from behind his helmet, trying to keep in step with Locus. 

The ex-merc stopped all motion, making Grif hump right into his metaled back. 

“Fuck, watch where you’re going, dude-“

“Keep his name  _ out  _ of your mouth.” Locus half turns his head, offering no argument in the matter. 

There it was; that familiar chill Grif would have crawling up his spine any time he heard that voice during the civil war of Chorus. He hadn’t felt that chill  _ since  _ the civil war, even. Grif’s brain races before he has to remind himself  _ it’s not like that anymore- _

“Okay, I see you’re still  _ very  _ angry. I won’t say his name again, dude.” And there’s a slice of sarcasm in his words, because he  _ just can’t help it.  _ It was in Grif’s freakin’ nature. 

“I  _ mean it.”  _ Locus’ body is at a half-turn, now. Metaled fingers come up to unlatch the helmet hiding Locus’ face, then a soft  _ click  _ is heard as the equipment is twisted to pop open. 

Gunmetal eyes stab Grif in the chest with no remorse. 

Grif flinches, and all he can do is nod to clarify he understands his life  _ literally depends on it.  _

The soft gasp that’s drawn out of the rookie is unmistakable as he’s shown Locus’ face for the first time, eyes roaming over his sharp features and deep, X-shaped scar across his face. 

And, of course, despite being on the opposite end of pure  _ rage,  _ Grif couldn’t help but take in Locus’ features. It was a rare treat to see the man’s face, his cheekbones high and sharp with a slightly crooked nose where he’s been punched just one too many times. His hair was a mess, though, muddled up in a low ponytail that  _ clearly  _ needed adjusting and detangling. 

Locus only glares harder. “Take off your helmet, look me in the eye and say it again.” 

Without the filtering, the edge on Locus was knocked down by a fraction of a peg. Grif pops his helmet off with a hiss, knowing Atkinson hadn’t seen his face before, either. Grif’s ponytail was much smaller than Locus’, a small fluff ball on the back of his head that stuck out roughly four inches. All the hair at the back was pulled up, but his bangs laid loose across his face. Long strips of brown were loose to frame his face, reaching a few inches beyond his cheekbone. 

“I won’t say his name again. I promise.” 

And  _ damn,  _ Grif hadn’t promised anyone  _ anything  _ since he promised Simmons he’d “be more careful in the snow”, back when Grif had been sent over the cliff with the Meta and Simmons had been a damn  _ mess  _ over it. To this day, snow makes Simmons incredibly anxious and Grif has to keep reminding him that he’ll be careful. 

But before Grif could finish his sentence, Locus’ attention to the matter was broken when he saw Grif’s face; which, to him, made  _ zero  _ sense, because he’s  _ seen  _ Grif’s face before, but Locus never seemed to have paid attention to just how  _ weird  _ it looks. 

Not- not weird- _ bad,  _ just weird. Locus had seen the odd patch of pale skin at Grif’s left eye, but the green in that socket instead of brown in the other stood out more than usual, with the lighting they had. Locus doesn’t know the story behind it, and he wasn’t sure if he really  _ wanted  _ to know. 

Atkinson held his breath, feeling as though he had no right standing where he stood now,  _ especially  _ in front of Locus. 

The larger of the three gives a sharp nod before placing his helmet back on his head. 

“We need to move.”

  
  


  * ••



  
  


It took three hours to get out of the cave, but it cut two days down into mere hours, so Grif wasn’t complaining. 

_ The faster we find Simmons, the fuckin’ better. _

__ And, okay,  _ yes,  _ Grif was worried. Having anxiety over something isn’t something he’s really capable of; unless the situation involves a certain maroon soldier (and  _ bats). _

Locus checked his HUD; no warnings. They were making great progress. 

“Atkinson, was it?” Locus looks back at the rookie, who had the end-line of their group. He gives a short nod. 

“Yes, sir.” His back straightens as he’s addressed. 

“I want you by me. Captain Grif will hold the back. You’re all that’s left of Gold Team. I have a feeling things are going to get…  _ dicey.”  _

Months ago, Locus didn’t know  _ anyone’s  _ name in his and Felix’s little army of pirates. Didn’t care to know their names. 

Times are different, now. 

Grif’s brain couldn’t help but silently voice the  _ I’m orange, not fucking gold- or yellow, for that matter- why am I always Gold Team? _

Atkinson felt his stomach knot, but he nodded and moved up. 

Nineteen. Atkinson was a mere nineteen. 

Locus didn’t know this, but Grif did. And Grif remembers enlisting at nineteen. He made the  _ decision  _ to join the military. 

Atkinson didn’t. 

The next few days are a blur. A few pirate skirmishes here and there, but nothing major. They were closing in on their desired location by using the caves as shortcuts, which lead to Grif attempting the comms again.

Two minutes of white noise later, and Grif gets a connection. 

‘ _ Grif? Is that you?’ _

__ “Holy shit-  _ yes.  _ Where the fuck are you? Are you okay? Do you have a squad?”

‘ _ I’m fine, but low on rations because you fucking ate half of mine before we even reached the fucking canyon. And no, my squad’s- my squad is gone. I’m not sure where the hell I am. I have a holo map, though.’ _

Grif could hear Simmons’ voice crack in the comms; he led a group of women, with one male. Two were Atkinson’s age. 

_ That’s gonna haunt him for the rest of his life- _

_ “ _ Fuck- okay, okay we can make this work. I’m with Locus, and I have one of my soldiers left with me. Locus said we have to be within a two-mile radius to use local comms, so we gotta be close-“

“Grif, we have in-coming. Make this quick, get his coordinates.” The warning rolls off Locus like a death threat, so Grif has Simmons send his coordinates and prepares for yet another skirmish. 

_ Fuck- he’s alive, at least there’s that. _

__ Atkinson’s already holding his weapon in alert, scanning the area while Locus flickers away in his camouflage. 

“Four on your right, six on Atkinson’s left, all active camo.” 

“How the  _ hell  _ can you tell they’re using active camo? They’re  _ invisible.” _

__ “Stop whining, Grif, and focus!” Locus’ channel goes quiet after that, leaving Atkinson to bounce on the balls of his feet. 

“You good, kid?”

“Just- nervous. That flash bang a while back kinda stunned me, I  _ hated  _ that thing-“

It makes Grif internally scoff at the idea of a  _ flash bang  _ being the scariest object Atkinson had seen so far in the front line. Made him scoff, and terrified of the reality that lies ahead for the young soldier. 

“Just don’t do anything fuckin’ dumb, and you’ll be fine, rookie.” He huffs impatiently, checking his HUD before he has to-

_ Crack! _

Grif heard it before he saw it; a cliff-side cracks under pressure before collapsing over Grif and Atkinson. Atkinson is quick to bounce back, but Grif’s brain is mere seconds too slow to process the world around him. Chunks clip an orange helmet, while other pieces clash over his back. The moment he feels debris smash into his armor, Grif takes the moment to dodge the rest. 

“They have small hidden explosives in the cliffs, watch yourself-“

“You decide to tell us  _ now??  _ What the  _ fuck,  _ Locus! What’s the point of you being our eyes  _ if you can’t even fuckin’ see what’s coming before it hits us!” _

Before Locus can clip back a response from his post on the canyon walls, Simmons cuts through their comms. 

“I hear gunshots, I’m on my way-“

_ Gunshots?? They’re shooting at us-? _

__ Grif had been so preoccupied with the cliff, he hadn’t noticed Atkinson taking cover behind a thick rock. Grif follows the rookie’s thinking, hiding his body from the incoming fire. He could feel his heart beat faster, like a constant reminder of  _ survive, survive, survive- _

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ come out here, Simmons!”

Simmons ignores the command, forcing his thin legs to move  _ faster faster faster- _

“Captain Grif, I need a grenade, I’m out!” 

Grif looks across the stone floor of the canyon to see Atkinson roughly eight feet away. A thick, unwelcome lump swells in his throat. 

_ Of course I have no grenades.  _

__ Before he can voice his dilemma, they hear several gunshots from what can only be a sniper rifle. Locus takes out their attackers (which had grown in numbers far too quickly to keep up with), leaving Atkinson and Grif enough space to move up. Atkinson took the opportunity to shoot down the wounded Locus left laying on the ground while Grif pushed his way forward until he reached the other side of the canyon walls. 

“Locus, how many are left?” Grif’s voice is muffled by gunshots coming from the rookie just a few feet away, with chips of rock flying dangerously in every direction. 

“From my count, you have sixteen. We’re outnumbered, Grif.”

  * ••



  
  


His legs  _ burned.  _

But Simmons didn’t stop running, not until he knew the gunshots were growing louder rather than softer. He reached a jagged boulder, several yards from Grif’s position. Metal fingers press to the side of a maroon helmet, radioing Grif.

“ _ Grif!  _ I’m here, I can-“ 

“I told you not to come here, idiot! We’re outnumbered!”

“We’ll be  _ less  _ outnumbered with another person, jackass! I’m moving in,” Simmons forces his aching legs forward, firing at anything that moves that wasn’t orange. 

The sound of bullets rang in the canyon, with the occasional sniper shot from Locus. Most shots missed, with few lodging into limbs. Atkinson takes a hit to the calve, forcing him back until his body hits stone. He crouches behind a boulder, putting the least amount of weight to his injury as possible. 

The numbers of the enemy were dwindling slowly, too slowly for their convenience. Grif starts to panic, out of breath with frustration boiling deep in his veins; and with Simmons on the field, his worry only spiked that much more. 

As shots rang out, anxiety began to seep.

_ Can’t call for evac. Locus won’t even kill anybody. Atkinson is pinned. I don’t have any fucking grenades. Simmons is on the goddamn field- _

Grif’s thoughts are silenced by a deafening, ear-splitting bomb, setting off just mere yards from Atkinson. 

“ _ Fuck!  _ Atkinson!” Grif makes a move for Atkinson’s position, but Locus cuts through him. 

“Grif, he’s down, I don’t think he’s-“

“Would you shut up and actually  _ kill somebody  _ for once? Holy  _ shit,  _ that could’ve been prevented!” Grif makes it to Atkinson’s position, blood pumping violently against his temples.

And  _ god,  _ it was a mess. 

Atkinson’s body was against a wall of rock, back propped up against it. His visor was shattered, an open area revealing a green eye. A few shards stuck to his cheek, the skin dark, freckled, and spattered with blood. 

But the worst of it was  _ definitely  _ the lack of his left arm. 

“Holy  _ shit,  _ Atkinson-“

“I’m kinda numb-“

“Okay, hang on, Jesus I don’t even-“ Grif kneels to Atkinson’s side, who’s bleeding out faster than Grif would like to believe. 

Grif comms Simmons and Locus, explaining their situation. 

“I’m heading over! I have some medical equipment!” Simmons tries to trek over, narrowly avoiding rapid fire. Locus shatters a pirate’s forearm, stopping her from taking Simmons out with her own sniper rifle. 

__ When Simmons reaches the mess, his stomach drops in nausea. He tries to force it back down, kneeling by Atkinson while removing a case from his thigh. 

“I have some bacta-foam; with enough of it, it should stop the bleeding.” Simmons pulls out a blue capsule, pressing a button at its center. “Atkinson, can you still hear me?”

A single nod. 

“Okay. This might hurt- like,  _ a lot.”  _ He pops the capsule, placing it over Atkinson’s stump. The cut-off started just below the shoulder, leaving Atkinson completely amputated. The foam is quick to spread over the injury, seeping deep into the muscle and bone. It leaves a dull buzzing in the rookie’s body, before hardening just enough to cease any bleeding. 

“It should prevent infection, too.” Simmons adds, more so to calm his own nerves rather than the  _ actually injured soldier.  _

“I think my vision’s kinda blurry, Captain-“

“Shit- we need to get him out of here!”

_ Okay that’s- wow, that’s a lot of blood- _

“Grif, Simmons, brace yourselves.” Locus’ voice is deep with warning, leaving questions in the air. Before either of them can respond, they both hear yet another explosion after the sound of a single sniper shot. Pieces of rock fly several feet into the sky, dust spattering and clouding the area. 

But one explosion quickly escalated to two, then three, then  _ four- _

__ After the fifth, silence slowly crept into the canyon. 

“What the  _ hell-“  _ Simmons is the first to question, but Locus is quick to reassure him. 

“I saw a grenade loose on the ground by a pirate. I set it off, which happened to be close enough to the other pirates to set off their grenades, too.” 

“So, you took my advice?” The snark is evident in Grif’s tone.

“I will  _ not  _ be the cause of death again, Grif.” 

“Whatever, just get down here. Atkinson needs help.”

When Grif shuts off the comms, Atkinson lets out a pained groan that leaves Grif’s nerves entirely unsettled and wary. He chews at the inside of his lip, the skin tender from abuse. 

Simmons spares him a quick, anxious glance. 

“He’s gonna make it, Grif.” 

Grif  _ thinks  _ Simmons is trying to be reassuring, but that kind of gesture is hard to believe when the person offering it doesn’t sound very reassured themselves. 

  * ••



They set up camp in an underground cave. Locus kept watch over Atkinson while scanning his holo map for underground shortcuts, while Grif and Simmons remained in their own half of the cave. Grif preferred laying on his side, while Simmons had his back to the wall and knees pulled to his chest. 

The stillness left a weight of anticipation between the two, heavy like a storm cloud above the ocean. With so much going on with Atkinson’s injury, neither had the chance to really exchange words with one another.

Simmons is the first to break the silence. 

“Are you okay?”

And, okay,  _ that  _ crossed an emotional line. 

“Yeah.”

“..You wanna talk about it?”

_ Yes.  _

“No. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“...Okay.” 

And just like that- Grif felt his heart burn, just a smidge. But he knew better than to spill any guts. It wasn’t their way; never had been, and probably never  _ will  _ be. 

Emotions swirled in his head like an unforgiving storm. Grif has the image of his squad stuck in the forefront of his brain, rookies all geared up for their first mission and wielding unknowing smiles behind their visors. Atkinson’s loss of arm swiftly replaces these images, before finally falling on the false vision of Simmons’ corpse, pirates not too far off. 

And he has  _ so much  _ to say, he really did. 

_ I was worried about you. _

_ I'm sorry about your squad- _

_ Locus is sleeping a little better.  _

_ I missed you.  _

Simmons can feel Grif’s distress; they’ve known each other too damn long. With their helmets off, Simmons has easy access to thick, brown hair. Gloved, maroon fingers hesitate before tardily reaching down to run through that rough head of hair. Grif’s quick to flinch, but as he feels the soft touch slowly ease against his scalp he lets his tense body relax against the gesture. 

_ Oh, great- I’m touch starved, aren’t I? _

Isn’t he? Aren’t  _ all  _ of them? They’re always in armor, always under fire, always on guard. None of them had time for relationships, or physical contact in general. 

Grif shifts, letting that fragile line between them snap just a fraction by laying his head in Simmons’ lap (who let his legs fold out from their tucked-in position). Grif’s cheek rests on a metal thigh while thin fingers continue to pet through dark hair. 

It takes a while, but they eventually talk. By  _ talk _ , it’s actually  _ spewing everything at once. _

“Atkinson is all I have left of my squad. And we almost lost him. Dude, I don’t fuckin’ get it. I still feel like we’re yelling at a bunch of guys dressed in blue from across a boxed canyon.” He takes a deep breath, then exhales heavily before sinking further against Simmons. “And now one of them is dead. I didn’t think about it, not really. But- Church actually  _ saved  _ us, didn’t he? And now I give a shit about other people and I  _ hate it.  _ Because I know not all of them are gonna make it, Simmons. And that includes you guys.” 

_ That includes you.  _

Another exhale, deeper this time. 

“I’m not used to feeling this strongly about  _ anything. _ It’s a lot of fuckin’ effort. _ ”  _

He hates to admit it, but Simmons couldn’t agree more. If this had been four years ago, there would have been no way in  _ hell  _ that Simmons would join the war effort of Chorus. But here he was, giving a shit about other people. 

Some more than others. Ever since that day on the cliff, when the Meta damn-near killed them all, Simmons decided to take every moment with Grif like it’s the last. 

_ But Grif doesn’t need to know that.  _

“And then we were separated by this stupid canyon. That fucking sucked, dude. I kinda forgot that we’re  _ always  _ around each other. It was weird without you.” 

Silence falls over them, obvious uncertainty in the air between them as thoughts swarm Simmons’ brain. Words catch in his throat; the last thing he anticipated was for Grif to actually  _ communicate  _ how he feels. And now? Simmons has no godly idea how to react. 

His hand reaches deeper into thick hair, an attempt to sooth.

“...Is it really so bad that we care a little more than usual?”

No, Grif supposed it’s really  _ not  _ that bad. 

“I’m tired.” Grif lets his body curl closer to Simmons’ legs, head against a maroon, metaled pelvis. Simmons gave him mercy, keeping further questions to himself and giving brown hair a gentle tug. Realistically, Simmons  _ knows  _ he’s not going to get much out of Grif. It’s just not their way, and never has been. To get what he wants, he’s gonna have to time it  _ just right,  _ and now wasn’t it. So, instead of prodding, he lets the back of his head gently tap the wall supporting him, letting his eyelids flutter shut. 

“Yeah. Me too.”

  
  
  


  * ••



Miraculously, Aktkinson  _ did  _ make it. They sealed the wound just in time, but he was definitely sore, tender and exhausted. He lost a lot of blood, leaving him dazed and blank when he woke up the next morning. And the fact that he had  _ a limb blown off _ left him in a massive deal of pain that he didn’t fucking deserve. 

The reality of what  _ could’ve  _ happened hangs in the air; Grif dreamed of Atkinson losing his head, not his arm, while Simmons dreamt of  _ several _ limbs on the battlefield. As for Locus, he felt nothing but fucking guilt. If he had actually  _ killed  _ somebody, Atkinson would probably still have his arm. He’s trying his damndest to do something right, and he’s fucking up every time. 

The night had been restless for all four of them, leaving the pack to be overworked and unsteady.

Grif is nervous about Atkinson. His lack of arm as they traveled made him an easy target and a possible liability. While Grif would  _ never  _ leave him behind, he was still concerned that Atkinson would come up with the idea to  _ make  _ them leave him if the situation called for it. He was a damn good kid, and Grif’s gut churned at the possible situation. 

On the bright side, they were nearing the colony. They were officially out of that goddamn canyon, but that left them in the open. White rock was now the vast majority of what they could see, just without the high, claustrophobic walls. The colony they’re looking for is a city made of stone, the people using their limited resources to their advantage. So they’ve been told, at least. 

“How much further? I’m hungry as fuck-“

“Jesus fucking Christ, you ate  _ all  _ of our rations two days ago!” Simmons is walking a few feet ahead of Grif, with Locus up front and Atkinson in the back. 

“Yeah? That was two days ago. Did you know people go hungry after two days? I know that’s tough for you to wrap around your nerdy little brain but-“

“We’re here.” Locus stops short, Simmons walking right into his sturdy back and Grif following. Atkinson stops before he follows the same fate, looking up and out to the horizon.

Sure enough, it was the colony they had been looking for; Colony Swahaydah 17C3, or “Haydah” for short. 

“Keep your weapons lowered. This is a neutral colony, and they don’t have an army.” 

The group nods, but the lack of an army makes Simmons nervous beyond belief. 

_ What kind of colony doesn’t have an army? _

There’s a few guards at the gate. Locus explains the situation, voicing that they needed to borrow their comm tower so they could get a hold of Kimball. Kimball’s name ran deep in these parts of Chorus, granting all four of them easy access to the colony. 

Which… was simply another thing Simmons (and Locus, now) is nervous about. A normal, military-based colony would  _ never  _ grant access purely over the drop of a name. 

_ If they trust us that easily, then they probably weren’t really affected by the war.  _ Simmons hums to himself, curiosity gaining the best of him as he scans the area. Every building was carved into white stone, the place appearing to be aged by nature itself with its soft edges and smooth surfaces. Machinery was also scattered across the colony; radio towers, oil pumpers and water wells were the most common. 

The people, however, were the most interesting to the redhead. They adorned interesting jewelry made from minerals from the caves, all smoothed out and spherical in shape. Most were a mossy green, but a few pieces shined a beautiful and burning orange. People wore them as bracelets, earrings, necklaces, head pieces and even facial piercings. They weren’t primitive, so to speak, but rather more… relaxed. Like there wasn’t a galactic war somewhere in the universe  _ all the time.  _ Like it was Earth again;  _ just  _ Earth. Before the Covenant. Before Freelancer. Before the UNSC. When Earth’s problems were the people already on the planet, not outside it. 

But the people seemed… anxious. Anxious and uneasy. Like something had them wound up, and they couldn’t quite release that tight pressure from within them. Which, Simmons guessed, was probably from the fact that four soldiers in space armor and guns were parading through their peaceful, untouched colony. 

But the constant staring and whispering didn’t ease his nerves about it. 

The four of them had a couple guards take them to the colony governor, under the name Kax. Kax was in a large, domed, stone building. Inside, a woman in several grey robes stood over a table holding a large map; a paper one, Simmons noticed, which was largely uncommon considering most people had moved on to holographics by now. 

_ These people seem… a little behind. _

__ Kax was small for her age; a mere five feet, but her face tells another story. Simmons assumes she must be in her late forties, if the lines on her face have anything to say about it. Her eyes are a dark, rich blue, and her skin tanned from the constant, harsh sun that blankets their colony. She kept her hair in a dark braid, a few strands grayed from obvious stress. A scar is noticeable on her upper lip, silver in contrast to her rich complexion. 

“And who might you four be? We don’t get outsiders very often, you know.” Her voice is rough and thick with constant use, but she has an uneasy smile to her features that set off so many alarms for Simmons- 

And it seemed like Locus wasn’t a fan, either. 

“We just needed to use your colony as a halfway point for communications. Our colony had radio towers close to the canyon outside this area, but they were destroyed by Pirates. Please, may we have your permission to access your towers? President Kimball is waiting for us.” 

Simmons sighs to himself—  _ Straight to the point, thank fuck. _

__ “Yeah, we got kinda fucked up in that stupid canyon. Also, we’re uh, kinda low on ratio-  _ ow!” _ A sharp, maroon elbow cuts Grif off, effectively ceasing his obvious intentions. 

Atkinson, though.

Atkinson is skittish. He’d been quiet most of the way to Haydah, and nobody noticed until this moment. Grif could tell he wasn’t feeling at ease, and the opened, shattered area of his helmet left his emotions practically out for the whole world to see. One green eye is visible to be seen frantically checking left, right, up and down. His foot is tapping a little against the rocky surface of the floor, and his hand to his side is lightly tapping the metal thigh plate. 

“Dude, what the fuck is your issue?” Grif’s leaned in, voice only heard between the two. 

“I- I have no idea. I just… I feel like we’re being watched, Captain-“

“Our comm towers? Is that all you need? To make a call?” Kax has her head tilted to the side, her voice cutting between Grif and Atkinson harshly. The two whip their heads up in attention, and the anxiety cuts deeper into Atkinson’s nerves like a fucking knife. 

Locus only nodded. “Yes. We’ll be out of your way soon, we don’t mean to bring any trouble to you and your people.” 

Kax flinches, but she quickly recovers— not before Locus catches the reaction, however. “You sure you don’t need anything else? Your friend there mentioned you were all low on food rations. We can assist with that.” 

The tension in the air was obvious. Kax’s forced smile was throwing Grif off in the worst way. 

_ She looks like she’s being held by gunpoint- _

“No, thank you. Once we make our call, our troops can give us an evac. They’ll have plenty of rations for us.” Locus can sense the uneasy, trying his best to wrap up the conversation as quickly as possible for his soldiers. 

Oh, and what a concept  _ that  _ was. 

Grif had been rather close with Locus in a way Locus hadn’t really experienced before; an actual  _ friend.  _ A friend who wasn’t afraid to poke and jab at him, but also talk real shit sometimes, too. Simmons was growing on him, as well. And Atkinson? Locus could already tell he was going to grow attached to him, too. In a strange way, the three really are  _ his  _ soldiers. 

Kax is less unfazed than before, a grimace now spreading unpleasantly across her tired face. “Right. Right, yes. These two will show you to our radio room. Just follow them, please, and let us know if you need anything else.” She nods to the two guards who brought the four of them in to begin with, and Locus gives a curt nod back. 

The walk to what was supposed to be the comm room was fucking ridiculous to endure. People in the streets watched them like fucking  _ hawks  _ the whole way there, and the guards’ lack of any form of conversation didn’t help. 

Simmons found himself gripping Grif’s gloved hand with his own metal one, which forced a sharp jolt from Grif’s sturdy body. His orange helmet moves, just a smidge, to Simmons’ direction, as a form of  _ Are you okay? _

And no, Simmons is  _ not  _ okay. 

Grif let’s his fingers slip and grip back, his heart starting to gain a little traction and speed as they walk. Having Locus, the least talkative of their group, up front with two quiet guards did  _ not  _ help their fucking situation. And the fact that they had almost no known knowledge of the colony they were in only made the air above them feel that much more suffocating to everyone. 

But Locus noticed. He noticed the constant jittery movements of Atkinson and Simmons, and he took that as an obvious sign that this  _ wasn’t an okay place to be in.  _

__ The radio towers were all they needed; just a few short minutes. Locus wanted to hold out for it. He knew they could, just a few more  _ seconds- _

Once inside, it was clear they walked right into a fucking trap. 

No, of  _ course  _ it wasn’t a radio room; it was a fucking lab of some kind. Probably for agriculture. Locus didn’t know, but he already had a pistol out and the other three were quick to follow. The guards had already stepped out, locking them in. Several Pirates were waiting for them, one in particular sticking out compared to the rest. Similar armor to the typical Pirate, but her helmet was strangely a Recon, her set adorned with a dark green trim. 

And,  _ oh,  _ did she look like a  _ bitch.  _

“Hey there, boss. It’s been a while.” She doesn’t have a weapon up, and that tells Locus she’s far too cocky in her own abilities. 

“Oh,  _ shit!  _ You banged one of your grunts?” Grif’s snorting, and Simmons is already stepping on his foot to shut him the fuck up. 

“Absolutely  _ not.  _ Women make me uneasy.” 

Simmons lets out a huge sigh of relief, thankful he’s not the  _ only  _ one. “ _ God,  _ right? I get so fidgety around them-“ 

“Okay, I need to like- I need to  _ not  _ have another arm blown off, okay? I only have one left-“ 

“Shut  _ up,  _ Jesus!” The woman has a knife up, just inches from Locus’ visor. But her attention isn’t on him; she has the Pirates more focused on Grif, Simmons and Atkinson. 

She knows damn well how to manipulate Locus. 

“You know, you were the  _ last  _ person I expected to get a call about. When I was told your sorry ass was alive, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten up to sharpen my knife so goddamn quick.” 

“Why is every woman we know so  _ mean-“  _ Simmons is whispering to himself, the hold on his gun getting tighter. Atkinson’s behind Grif, but not by choice. Grif purposely moved to block him from view, something he’s grown to use as instinct by now. 

“You obviously want us dead. Why not just do it?” 

“I want information about that AI construct you all had. Somebody is paying some  _ high  _ dollars for it. Any info, or even  _ scraps  _ of him.” She takes a step closer, the knife steady against Locus’ clothed neck. 

“Church. His fucking name was Church.“ Grif’s hands are tightening, because the term  _ AI construct  _ just didn’t sit right with him and he knew damn well if Caboose or Tucker—  _ especially  _ Tucker— heard that term, all hell would break loose. “He’s gone. There’s nothing you can do with him.” 

“Really? That’s a damn shame. I thought some of it was salvaged-“ 

_ He’s not an “it”- _

__ “No, none of him was. He’s just a memory now. You can fucking move on, or Locus here is gonna have to kick your sorry, pirate  _ asses.”  _ Grif nods to Locus, his left foot touching Atkinson’s and slowly moving the rookie’s leg further behind him. 

She scoffs,  _ scoffs,  _ and it’s ugly and pretty all at the same time. “ _ Locus?  _ Locus couldn’t hold a candle to me. Not him. Not Felix-“ 

Now it’s Grif’s turn to snort. “Oh yeah? How come I haven’t heard of ya? We don’t even know your name, bitch. Look, we know a  _ lot  _ of women like you. As far as I can tell, you’re a Mary Sue. You guys are all scary and cocky and fucking insane, but you all have some kind of kryptonite. Locus here is it for you. All my money's on the big guy over there.” 

Simmons couldn’t help but agree. Locus was a fucking  _ tank,  _ and a stealthy one at that. 

But Locus wasn’t so sure. While he definitely appreciated (and genuinely kinda wanted to smile) the loyalty Grif had to him, he actually  _ knew  _ this woman. He knew how she worked and how she fought. The bitch was ruthless and liked to play dirty.

But no. She wasn’t unstoppable. She wasn’t Carolina, or Tex. She could definitely take on Washington, but not the  _ women  _ that have been with the Reds and Blues. If Locus was being honest, she was really just a wannabe Mary Sue.

“You can call me Six-Six. But if you don’t have anything useful for me, then we’ll carry on as initially planned.” She comms somebody on her radio, and in a short few deafening seconds there were gunshots outside the building. 

The sickly realization hit all four of them like fucking lead in their guts. 

Shockingly, Atkinson makes the first shot. As he said before, he really did have  _ great  _ aim. Even with one arm, he managed to land a shot to Six’s shoulder. She recoils, hand shooting to the injury immediately. Simmons is quick to move, using his pistol rather than his DMR to take out two Pirates to his left. Locus is using his own body as a weapon, charging and forcing three Pirates to the floor and successfully fracturing the skull of the Pirate closest to him. 

Grif, on the other hand, is a little slower to react, and took a bullet to the side rather quickly. Glass is heard shattering around them as bullets fly through the lab, sending shocks of panic through the rookie. Locus turns around, and forces the door to the lab back open with a violent kick that rang out through the room of metal. 

The people are scattered like cattle. 

Everything was happening at once; Six-Six was already back up and throwing a knife at Locus’ back right before she’s shot once more to the pelvis. The knife lodges into Locus’ gear, inches away from flesh. He grunts, taking the knife and throwing it back where it fucking came from. 

She dodged it before whipping out her pistol, firing quicker than Locus was really prepared for. On the other side of the lab, Simmons was knife-deep into somebody’s chest while Atkinson was covering for Grif. 

The reality of their situation was evident to Locus; these people were forced into trapping Locus’ group for Six-Six, and now they’re paying the price for trusting the Pirates to leave them alone afterwards. 

What really fucking sucked was the fact that Locus used to order missions like this all the time. 

That same bubble of guilt was rising up, burning his chest like a furnace fire. He could see people running for their lives, unarmed and without any form of protection. A few bodies were already littering the streets, the crimson splashes of blood a horrific, almost beautiful contrast to the white rock of the city. 

He turns his head to look back into the lab; Six-Six is all that’s left, but she has all three boys on the floor in some distinct way. She has her pistol aimed at Atkinson, but Locus is quicker. His panic and deep urge to  _ protect  _ has his pistol shooting rapidly at Six’s legs, shattering bone and sending her straight to the floor. 

Locus moves quickly, pulling Simmons and Atkinson to their feet. Grif’s much slower to recover, the bullet wound to his side proving difficulties. 

“Dude if you don’t kill her now, I’ll fuckin’ do it, man. She knocked us like  _ punching bags. _ ” Grif’s already complaining, groaning as he stood up. Locus only shakes his head, ushering all three out of the lab. She shuts the door and bars it closed, effectively trapping Six-Six and her damaged body. 

He pulls the boys into a huddle at the side of the lab, pistol in hand. “Listen, this is a neutral colony. These people don’t have an army. We  _ have  _ to take the fight outside of the colony, or wipe them out here. If you shoot,  _ pay attention.  _ We have friendlies out here.” 

Locus’ voice seems to ease Atkinson a little, because the poor kid hasn’t had the chance to process that  _ innocent people are being gunned down.  _ Locus looks to Atkinson, who’s holding his pistol close to his chest. “Kid, I need you to find a safe place to hide until this is over. Your lack of arm is going to put you at risk. We’ve lost enough people as it is.” 

“What? No, I can fight! You saw me in the lab, I managed to shoot her!” All forms of obedience suddenly falls from his young face for the first time since this mission began. “Please, I can do this-“

“Locus is right, Rookie. We don’t have time to argue, I need you back and out of the way. You’ve seen enough shit for one mission.” Grif nudges Atkinson, and fortunately it was enough to get him to agree. He knew, though; he knew he was a liability. That shot to Six-Six’s shoulder was pure luck. Without his other arm, he was completely unbalanced. He hasn’t had any training to work around that, which would leave his next encounter with death to be a lot less lucky than before. 

He gives a frustrated sigh, but nods. “Okay. Just- please come get me when it’s over?” Atkinson phrases it like a question, and the fact that he had to  _ ask  _ to not be left behind did a number on both Grif and Locus. 

“I’m not leaving your rookie-ass behind. We’ll find you.” 

Before Atkinson takes off, Locus grabs his wrist. “Take this. It’ll keep you out of sight while you look for a place to hide. And use it if you think they’re looking for you.” He places a device onto Atkinson’s back, then activates it. 

Locus’ active camouflage. 

From behind their helmets, both Grif and Simmons had dropped jaws. Atkinson feels a swell of gratefulness, but swallows it back to thank Locus and take off. 

“Dude… did you just-“ 

He cuts Grif off. “Move. Shoot every pirate you see. I’ll be your eyes. Simmons, I need you to find the radio room and call Kimball. Can you do that for me?”

Simmons only nods. 

“Grif, go with him. He might need backup-“ 

“Oh good, I have  _ Grif  _ for backup-“ 

“Shut the fuck up and get moving, jackass-“ Grif’s pushing Simmons forward, and in seconds the two are off. 

Locus finds high ground quickly, and takes the sight of what’s literally a  _ massacre  _ before him. He pulls out his sniper rifle, conscious of being visible without his active camouflage. The screams and panicked yells as well as gunfire rings in his ears, and he can’t help but zero in on the fact that somehow this is  _ his  _ fault. 

  
  


  * ••



  
  


“Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

“Of course I do. The radio tower is visible from here. Just- look, I know where I’m going-“ 

They’re both running, faster than Grif would like. The bickering was used as a distraction; the screams of citizens was jarring and fucking haunting. 

But sure enough, Simmons was telling the truth; they found the radio room, and bust through the door, breaking the lock. Simmons is already hovering over the controls, flipping switches and then connecting himself to the tower. “Watch the door, Grif! You broke the fucking locks so now we need to pay the fuck attention.” 

“Fuck,  _ fine.”  _

Simmons patches himself through, and quickly radios Kimball. 

“Kimball?? This is Simmons! Things are kinda fucked up over here-“

“Where the  _ hell  _ have you guys been?! We’ve been looking everywhere for you guys! Are you all okay?”

“Well-  _ no,  _ we’re not. We’re just kinda-“

“ _ Simmons,  _ just send Kimball our coordinates!” Grif snaps, standing against the door of the radio room with anxiety in his step. 

“Right- uh, okay, I’m sending our coordinates. We have friendlies down here- Pirates are fucking this colony  _ up.” _

_ “Pirates?  _ Did you fucking say  _ Pirates?” _

Grif growls in frustration, feeling a headache bully its way through his skull. “I swear to  _ god-  _ Kimball just fucking come down here! We don’t have time!”

Before Kimball can answer, bullets shoot  _ right  _ through the door. Grif’s quick to duck and take cover before taking any more damage than he already has, but Simmons isn’t so lucky. A bullet lodged into his mechanical arm, sparks flying rapidly and cogs turning out of sync. 

“ _ Fuck!”  _ Simmons backs away from the controls, holding his arm before feeling its engine rapidly heat up. “Shit,  _ shit!” _

__ “Are you oka-  _ Jesus!” _ Grif cuts himself off, mortification lacing his words as he watches Simmons detach his own arm. 

“Grif! Throw this shit out!” He tosses his fucking  _ arm  _ to Grif, who quickly opens the door and fucking  _ football  _ throws the machinery. Before Grif can ask any questions, the arm rattles before imploding on itself. Pieces of metal and wires scatter across the ground, leaving no opportunities for repairs. 

“What the hell?” 

“They hit something important in my arm, not sure what, but it overheated. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I can make a new one. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He comms Locus with the local radio, explains the situation, and before he can move Locus is telling them both to remain in the radio room. 

“ _ What?  _ Why?” Simmons is ripping something from his sparking, empty socket as he speaks. Grif is quick to move to his side, helping him remove any dangerous or unnecessary pieces. 

“Because they’re starting to fall back, I think they figured out what happened to Six-Six. They’re more scattered in their movements. Just stay put, I’ll come get you guys.” 

“Don’t have to ask me twice..” Grif muttered to himself, pulling away another wire in Simmons’ shoulder. 

After their orders from Locus, Grif tries to radio Atkinson. The rookie is quick to reassure his captain, explaining his position and that he’s safe from the battlefield. A sigh of relief slips from Grif’s lips as Simmons pulls the final pieces from his broken socket. 

The Pirates actually retreat. The casualties consisted of at least sixteen people, eight of which were women and at least one child. 

Locus tried to keep from blaming himself again. 

When they regrouped, they were doing their best to help the people of the colony. Kax was nowhere to be found, and Grif couldn’t tell if he resented her, or felt  _ sorry  _ for her. 

Simmons found Atkinson taking cover inside a storage unit. When Atkinson sees the damage Simmons took to the arm, he actually had lost enough sense to smile. 

“We match.” 

Simmons snorts, leading him back to the others with a slow drag to his step. “I’ll make you a new one, kid.” 

  
  


  * •• 



  
  


When they regrouped, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call a happy reunion.

Kimball had to deal with the broken colony, taking full responsibility for the accident. What else could she do? They were her troops the Pirates were after, and the Pirates  _ knew  _ they’d head to the colony if they made it out of the canyon. Kax and her people had no choice but to comply with the lack of an army. 

Kimball paid for any and all damage done to the colony’s property, and has assured Dronno (a man who acted like a Vice President to Kax) that she would be sure to send some troops to their colony to help pick up the pieces. Locus could tell a trade deal for supplies and armor was probably going to take place. 

The reality of it all was starting to sink when the four of them got to a pelican. Shock, grief and exhaustion hung in the air suffocatingly. 

Simmons is seated beside Grif, slipping his human hands into Grif’s. By instinct, Grif grips back with a swell of… something, in his chest. He doesn’t know what, but it feels warm and soft. 

When they got back, Atkinson was taken to a medbay so Grey could look at his arm. Locus still felt guilty for that, as he fuckin’  _ should.  _ He already tried to apologize to Atkinson, but the rookie left no room for argument, and didn’t even blame Locus for the accident. 

Which made him feel even  _ worse.  _

__ The rest of the crew, the Reds and Blues, were far more concerned about the well being of Locus than he had anticipated. The first thing he endured when he got back was Caboose hugging him to death, and part of him was almost grateful for it. Donut was the second to share his concerns, asking if he was alright while also checking up on Grif and Simmons.

Locus doesn’t remember the last time somebody was worried about his well being. 

That night, after everyone had checked up on them and after Grey took a look at the bullet wound in Grif’s side, the four men took to fucking  _ sleep.  _

__ Atkinson shared a bunk with Bitters, and it was… a good reunion. Grif briefly remembers Atkinson throwing himself to hug a tired Bitters, the shock from the lack of an arm on Atkinson keeping him from being able to hug back. 

Simmons would have to rebuild an arm for himself, a project Grey had promised to help with the schematics for. The damn thing was old, anyway. He was due for an upgrade. 

He’s quick to shower, groaning softly as hot water encases his body like a blanket. Simmons does his best to rid himself of blood and dirt with one arm (he refused Grif’s offer to shower with him with a blush covering him from neck to chest). When he came back out, he saw Grif had already done the same. His hair was out of its usual small, fluffy pony tail and draped over his shoulders. Simmons can see a patch attached to Grif’s ribs, right where the bullet had been lodged earlier. 

And the fact that Grif’s actually  _ pretty  _ is so fucking  _ inconvenient.  _ Pretty in his own way, that is. That stupid hair of his had grown out since enlisting, and Simmons had given up on getting Grif to cut it back. Grif’s stubble was evident too, after days in the canyon. 

“You still have that tank top?” Grif’s raising an eyebrow, head cocked to the side as he lets his eyes run over Simmons’ form. 

The tank top in question was  _ old,  _ and incredibly faded. It was of thin material from years of use, black with what used to be the periodic table across the chest area. 

Grif had given it to him back in Valhalla, before Wash came into their lives. 

“I- Uh, yeah, I do. Haven’t worn it in a while.. it’s soft, so I keep it around.” He’s blushing, he  _ knows  _ he is, but he’s white as hell and can’t do a damn thing about it. 

Grif is taking off his shirt while Simmons settles into his bunk, facing the wall, the heat in his face trying its damndest to simmer. But before Simmons can get comfortable, he feels the bed dip behind him. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Shut up. I missed you.” Grif had his arm over a slender wait, then pulled the redhead to his chest despite his squawking protests. 

“Grif-“ 

“Dude. Seriously. Shush.” A forehead presses to the back of Simmons’ head, his heart hammering sporadically in his pale chest. So many fucking questions are in the back of the cyborg’s head, but for whatever reason he can only conjure up one of them to ask. 

“You wanna talk about it?” 

Grif doesn’t respond right away, nearly leaving Simmons to assume he’d already fallen asleep. But the feather-light touches up his tank top said otherwise. 

“Mm. Sorta. Tired, though.” 

Physicality is… foreign, for Simmons. If somebody isn’t shooting at him, they’re trying to punch him. Grif is one of the few who offers touch that heals rather than harms. 

But this was different. A tight knot was forming deep in his core, hot and burning against his body. 

“What do you want, then?” 

“Just you.” 

They’re two, simple, unexpected words. So simple, and so unusual. 

It wasn’t  _ that  _ unusual, though. Not really. Not when they’ve been dancing on this line for  _ years  _ now. Not when they too often shared a bed when it was fucking cold in Valhalla at night. Not when Grif was thrown off a damn cliff and Simmons couldn’t stop touching him afterwards. Not when they  _ fucked in a closet _ .

“You’ve had me since forever, idiot.” 

His face is burning again with each word, but he needs to get it out. 

“Yeah? You mean that?” He has his lips pressed to the nape of Simmons’ freckled neck, hands splaying higher and higher until they reach the redhead’s chest. 

“ _ Yes,  _ god, yes-“

Grif hums to himself before letting a lazy, warm drag of his tongue slowly swipe across warm skin at Simmons’ neck. “Good. We’re on the same page, then. For once.”

Heat’s coiling tighter, because god _ damn  _ is Simmons touch starved— touch starved and desperate and so fucking  _ overwhelmed  _ with how much he loves this orange idiot. 

But that’s soured when the thought of his squad popped into the forefront of his brain. Those kids had been bright, and hopeful and  _ excited  _ for their first mission. 

Only to die their first day out. 

The thought makes him curl in on himself. What was once warmth in his core is now brutal, icy regret. They were just kids— naive, young kids. And it wasn’t just his squad, either. Grif had lost his, too, save for Atkinson, who  _ lost an entire fucking arm.  _

__ He feels a weight of discomfort wash over himself; black and fucking dreadful. 

“I can  _ hear  _ you thinking, dude. Relax.” 

“I  _ can’t.  _ I just- fuck. I keep thinking about them-“

“Don’t. We’ll… we’ll deal with it tomorrow, Simmons. I’m thinking about it, too. But I just- dude, I don’t want to think about it. Not right now.” His hold on Simmons tightens, pulling that thin waist just that much closer to himself. 

And Simmons gets it. He really did. He didn’t want to think about any of it, either. And the massacre at the colony was just one more thing to blame himself over, so instead of letting his mind wander too deep, he lets Grif do as he pleases. 

“Yeah. I kinda just wanna… forget, right now.” The words are hardly audible, but Grif catches it. Of course he does. 

What Simmons yearns for is exactly what Grif needs; a distraction. Neither of them wanted to actually  _ forget  _ what happened, but they sure as hell didn’t want to think about it all in that very moment. The weight of the past few days crushed their shoulders to fucking dust as it is. 

“M’kay. I can do that.” His voice is soft, laced with the temptation of sleep. Large, calloused hands slowly and lazily massage Simmons’ chest, drawing out a soft murmur from the redhead in his grasp. 

That same warm tongue is dragging against pale skin, lips gently kissing over the highest point of Simmons’ spine. Heat is pooling low in both their guts, and Simmons can’t help but sigh with content. 

They were never anything official, but they were both so obviously a  _ thing  _ that this felt natural, like the two of them laid here like this all the time. But in reality, they hadn’t, and they hadn’t touched each other like this since they fucked in that closet. Both were too fucking immature to address it, even when  _ everybody  _ knew they were together. Everybody but them, evidently. 

A smirk cover’s Grif’s face when he pulls another soft moan from Simmons, one hand moving down to tease at the hem of the redhead’s shorts. He responds positively, narrow hips gently rolling back against Grif’s lower half. The movement is almost electrifying, and  _ definitely  _ long-awaited. 

“Dude, I’m so not fucking you right now-“

“ _ Fuck,  _ why not-“ Simmons is whining,  _ whining,  _ but he’s too tired to care anymore. 

Grif pulls his hands back up to Simmons’ chest. “Because we still have shit to talk about later. About us. I’ll fuck you then, yeah?” Hands that promise safety come up to take hold of that slender waist, manipulating Simmons until they’re face to face. 

“God, only  _ you  _ would put off  _ sex.” _ But there’s a ghost of a smile across Simmons’ face, and Grif can’t help but cover it with his own lips. Simmons lets a sorry little  _ squeak  _ slip, forcing a stupid snort from Grif’s throat. Butterflies are in the redhead’s gut, the moments fleeting yet so fucking  _ grounding. _

Grif pulls back a mere few centimeters, just to lick across thinner lips. Simmons complies with no restraint, and hums pleasantly at the flooding of warmth in his mouth. 

Shockingly, Grif was a  _ damn  _ good kisser. He kissed like he acted; slow and lazy, but the twist there was the fact that he also had  _ purpose.  _ For this situation, the purpose was to sooth. 

They’ve been through too damn much the last few days. Soothing would be a nice change of pace. 

When Grif pulls back, he has a soft smile on his face that completely contrasts the dark, furiously blushing Simmons. 

“You blush like a girl, dude.” 

“Oh  _ fuck you,  _ I don’t kiss people-“ 

Grif pulls him in under his chin tightly, letting his head drop to the crown of Simmons’ head. 

“Then I’ll make up for it.” 

The lack of jabs towards Simmons’ painfully obvious virginity was more astounding than anything else. It had always been a joke with Simmons; Tucker and Grif alike have made it. But to actually  _ imply  _ it kinda sucked, and the fact that Grif didn’t take it as an opportunity to poke and prod was… refreshing. 

“Hey, wanna know something, dude?”

Simmons huffs, eyes already closed. “I thought you wanted to  _ sleep-“ _

_ “ _ No no,  _ listen-“  _

Simmons buried his face deeper into Grif’s neck, muttering a half-hearted _Fine, what?  
_

Grif grins to himself, knowing Simmons can’t see it. But with how well and how long they’ve known each other, Grif just knows Simmons can  _ hear  _ the grin. 

“I think I know why I’m here.”   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated! Thank you for reading :))


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